


Realism

by citrusella



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: (further mentions of the aftermath in chapter 14), (in chapter 7), Amputation, Amputee Steven Universe, Angst, Drabble, Gen, Spoilers for Episode: s05e28 Escapism, Spoilers for Episode: s05e29-32 Change Your Mind, Warnings May Change, at least for the initial chapter or three, but not at all set during it, graphic aftermath of amputation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2019-10-08 23:05:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17395415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrusella/pseuds/citrusella
Summary: As much as he may want it to be, this is not a dream. He's not possessing anyone. It's not happening to someone else.It's real.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Been writing this fic for a week; wrote this first part practically right after the airing! o.o
> 
> The document with the rest of it is an exercise in angst. Maybe I'll eventually be happy enough with it to let it out and put it here.

Eyes closed.

A watermelon floats on calm waves after a storm. Exhausted, he wishes he could find solid land already, but this is better than the chaos before.

He feels an itch on his left hand. Still saturated with seawater, his waterlogged right arm inches slowly until reaches its target, only to realize—oh, yeah—it's not there but somewhere in the ocean. He scratches with his mitt-hand anyway, as if that might help.

It doesn't.

He opens his eyes to a white ceiling above.

One arm. One leg. Gone.

He's not sure how he got here.

And he is not a Watermelon Steven.


	2. Chapter 2

Eyes open.

He's not a Watermelon Steven, but he still feels like one, his insides pickling in a saltwater brine and making him feel heavy even as he bobs weightlessly in a featureless ocean.

...His insides are  _ not _ brining, and he is  _ not _ in the ocean, even though everything  _ is _ heavy.

His mind is tired and swimming so much he's sure it's still trying to reach Beach City, but he thinks he hears Dr. Maheswaran tell Dad something about his blood.

It doesn't have a type? Or maybe it's all of them? Or—?

He closes his eyes. He can think about it later.


	3. Chapter 3

They're unsure, but they give him what they think should be a safe bet, some plain old O-negative.

Nothing happens. Other than what's supposed to happen, anyway.

Granted, they don't give him _too_ much, just the minimum amount to do the job, so it's still several days before his body regains the energy to do... much of anything, honestly. Besides lie there, that is.

Six gems and two humans crowd around the bed until a nurse mentions a "family-only, three-persons-at-a-time limit", eyeing Connie specifically.

Priyanka pulls Connie close and reminds the nurse it's Bring Your Child to Work Day.

It's not.


	4. Steven Alone

When Steven is finally up, he is quiet for a long time.

People visit, of course, but he doesn't talk to them. Not yet.

After all, what is there to say?

Figuratively, he's very… alone? Yeah, best to go with that.

He makes sure he's literally alone before he really wallows in how he feels. Best not to have the others worry any more than they already are. Which is in itself already more than they need to.

He clenches and wiggles the fingers on his right hand as if they're new to him, wills himself to try to will the ones on his now nonexistent-left hand to do the same.

More than once, he swears he feels it.

On some level it feels like cat fingers—part of him yet clearly not?

Since what's left of his left arm is bandaged up—for reasons unclear to him because he's pretty sure there's not, like, a wound under there—he uses the fact that his arm hasn't acquired a mind of its own and started meowing as evidence he hasn't shapeshifted.

He avoids testing his feet because a cat leg would be unpredi- _cat_ -ble.

Part of him is too numb to even laugh to himself at the pun he just made that no one else will ever hear.

...That's fine, because the pun really isn't that good, anyway.

He wants to think about how this all managed to happen like this, how he should fix it, how things might change, but he can't push himself to do anything right now except test out his body's new limits like a months-old half-alien discovering his own gem for the first time.

The only thing divorcing him from the thought he might actually _be_ a baby is that he can't imagine _this_ happening to one.

Then again, Steven can't imagine this happening to _him_ , either, yet here he is. Somehow.

The gems have visited twice. They haven't told him anything—they just look really shaken, if he's being honest.

Connie comes in with her mom sometimes, which is apparently the only loophole under which the hospital can't prevent her from visiting right now. Steven notices she has some gauze wrapped around one arm. He doesn't ask about it.

Dad has come more times than he can count—in fact, Dad comes in _now_ while Steven is thinking about his very visiting habits, spooking him into thinking he's set off some sort of Dad-sense that has made his dad apparate to the hospital just to visit him.

Dad sits down and Steven can see in his face that he wants to talk.

Or, rather, that he wants Steven to talk.

Steven's still just tired in general, but he's extra tired of making his family—the gems, Connie, Dad—worry.

He gives Dad what he wants.


	5. Chapter 5

No one is sure what changed, but Priyanka guesses she should be happy that he's awake, capable of making conversation now.

But a more awake Steven means a more talkative Steven.

With questions. Many questions.

Some she can answer, some she can't.

Some she won't.

"Where are they?"

Her eyebrows raise, the only outer evidence that her brain is scrambling to find the proper response. "That's… not important. The important part is that you don't have them anymore." She doesn't feel like the best person to discuss this with.

"Why can I still feel them?" His voice is less like his normal inquisitive self and more like the pondering tone of a child at a birthday party who has gotten a present he decidedly _never_ wanted to receive.

"It's called phantom pain. Your body thinks they're still there." She probably isn't the best person to discuss this with.

"Do you think they'll grow back? Or maybe I can shapeshift them back?" Priyanka makes a mental note to add something to his file once she gets back to the station.

"I'm not—I don't—" She stops. She isn't the best person to discuss this with.

"...Is it even possible for me to lose them?"

"I think we've determined through experimenting that the answer is 'yes'."

"You experimented on me?!" She _is not_ the best person to discuss this with.

Sigh. " _No._ But look. After what happened, they're clearly no longer part of you." Her response is in a measured, matter-of-fact deadpan perfected through years of convincing her daughter that things like monsters, dark magic, and boys aren't real.

He looks from one empty spot where a limb should be to the other, downcast. He breathes deeply, his exhale almost sounding like he's humming a little song to himself. He approaches the next question as if it's stupid to ask.

"...What _did_ happen?"

She looks to the side, away from Steven, her eyes widening then narrowing, wanting to be angry but instead just sad; compared to what the Universes are going through, it hasn't actually affected her or her family past destroying her peace of mind in her daughter's safety and ability to hold her own if _this_ could happen.

"You mean you don't remember?"

He feels like he _should_ , like he _does_ deep down but it just won't come out or something. But that doesn't make sense, does it? Not being sure feels silly. Either you remember something or you don't. Right? Would Dr. Maheswaran even understand if he told her the truth? He thinks she wouldn't. Maybe she would? She probably wouldn't.

"—No."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! A new chapter that's as big as all the previous chapters put together?!

He's skeptical when Dr. Maheswaran brings a new person in.

He's wary when she explains she's a psychologist, a therapist.

He's never thought of himself as someone who needs therapy.

Dr. Brooks sits in a chair near him and gives a warm smile and he's not sure how to feel.

Part of him doesn't want to talk to her, but part of him can't fight the urge to do just that.

She places her notepad in the chair beside her, as if she brought it to be prepared but yet at the same time it's not all that important. "So, Steven, how are you doing today?"

She looks him in the eye with a genuine smile as if everything is okay.

That makes him bristle.

"Just peachy."

"That doesn't quite sound like how you really feel. You wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Really? I heard you like talking about feelings."

He looks away from her and tries to cross his arms but realizes enough arm is missing that trying is awkward and weird; his brow furrows but he doesn't dare actually say he's angry.

Dr. Brooks observes quietly. "If you don't wanna talk about that, we can just sit here. Or we could talk about other things, like your family or your house, things like your pets or hobbies if you have any. They asked me to come because they thought I'd be good to talk to about some serious things, but we don't have to start with that if you don't want to; people I talk to always say I'm a really good listener, even if they're just talking about their cat."

Steven looks back toward her but doesn't say anything.

"My son and I used to have a black cat named Frank. I used to ask him—my son, not my cat—to be frank with me and he would start acting just like the little furball. I really miss him—my cat, not my son."

A smile barely— _barely_ —cracks on Steven's lips, but only for a second.

"I heard from your dad you have a cat. He said he was going to go feed it."

Steven stays silent several seconds, but eventually something gives and he responds quietly.

"That's Cat Steven. He's really more like Garnet's cat because she spends a lot of time with him. I also have a lion named Lion. We don't… really have to feed him, though."

Dr. Brooks listens with rapt attention as if what he's described is a completely normal pet and nothing is out of the ordinary.

"He's pink and he has this magic mane that you can go inside and he was probably a regular lion who died and got brought back to life by my mom, which I think I'm only really sure about because I did the same thing to Lars. Like, he died and I brought him back to life, I mean. I didn't, like, kill him or anything!"

She has been briefed on Steven's unique history but this explanation is itself still clearly a crash course for her. She takes a few moments to formulate a response.

"That sounds pretty heavy. You have any feelings about that?"

"...I knew you'd get back to the tough stuff." His voice loses some of the vigor he'd had talking about Lion.

She chuckles just a little. "It's a part of my job. I don't force it, though—kids, especially, tend to resent me for that—but it's something they have to talk about eventually. We all have to talk about eventually." She paused and gestured to Steven. " _You_ have to talk about it eventually. But not now, if you don't want to."

"...I don't."

"Are you comfortable elaborating?"

He doesn't answer.

"That's okay, then, we can talk about whatever you want. Or nothing at all. We could draw, or watch TV, or I could help you take a trip around the ward—" She withdraws the last one at the deer-in-headlights look on the boy's face. "Point is, I'm just not going to dance around the fact we do eventually have to really get into things; you're 14, not 6, so I think you can handle it and understand why."

Steven's lips purse. She's right, of course, but he wishes she wasn't.

"...Am _I_ allowed to ask questions?"

"You sure can, though I can't guarantee I'll be able to answer every possible thing you could ask."

He reflexively tries to clasp his hands; it's not quite as weird as his attempt to cross his arms, but the left one feels like it's asleep and the right one clearly isn't grasping anything and he's not quite sure how to feel about the sensation. Shaking the feeling out of his brain and trying to focus on the subject at hand, he clears his throat.

"How long have you been a doctor?"

"Well, hrm… I got my doctorate before you were born, but I didn't really put it to use until around, hm, ten years ago? Yeah."

"Are you married?"

"Not anymore. My husband _sucked_." Her voice communicates a degree of discussion-ending that only a mom can muster, so Steven backs off that thread.

"How old is your son?"

"Ah, that's easy. 28." This answer makes Steven squint; she doesn't look super old.

"Divided by two. Minus one."

Steven's really not in a math mode so it takes him a second. "...13? Why not just say that?"

"I thought I should dance around the subject. That's definitely what I did and I really didn't just blurt out a random number and have to correct myself."

Steven's face looks like it's fighting itself on what to display, but eventually a smile joins it just long enough for him to come up with another question that steals it away.

"...How many people like me—y'know, with—" he gestures to his body, "have you had to talk to before?"

"Well, as part of my job? Not _too_ many, but a few. Probably only one or two others around your age or younger, though. And they only lost one limb, not two."

Something inside Steven takes this as a criticism, and he's not sure why; nevertheless, the next words pour out of his mouth as if he had no control over them inviting themselves in there. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this, you know."

Dr. Brooks is solemn. "I know. It never is."

"I just wanted to help everyone but now they're all worried about me."

"Do you think it's reasonable for them to worry about you right now?"

"They shouldn't need to. I'm the one who should be worrying about them."

"Really? Why?" Her voice doesn't betray the fact that she really doesn't think she needs to ask the question to be able to guess the answer.

"I—" He looks down and rubs through the gown he's wearing as if confirming that his gem hasn't also been amputated. "I mean, I have my mom's gem and it took them so long to get over losing her, and they really love me but they shouldn't have to go through something that kind of serious, not again."

"That's a pretty astute and conscientious way to think about it, and you're right, they shouldn't have to go through something this serious, but you're pushing aside a critical part of the situation: it happened, and you have to go through it anyway."

Steven sniffs.

"Grief's a long, hard road, and you're going to feel—you're likely _already_ feeling—grief about what happened. You'll need wade through that to if you ever want to get past wallowing in your own self-pity. And to do that, you'll need to feel it. And talk about it."

"...No, I don't. They've already got so much on their plates. I can deal with it myself."

"I hear your desire to make things easier on your friends and family. It's noble. But you're already on their plates, because they love you. They'll probably notice if you're pretending to feel better than you are, or if you're trying to keep things from them. Seeing you hiding your feelings to spare them when you're still clearly feeling them will still affect them. If it was your dad instead of you," Steven's eyes widen, "would you be happy to find out he was hiding things from you, just so you wouldn't have to worry?"

He lets out a sigh, a shudder that forecasts tears lying just below its surface. He knows Dad _would_ be the kind of person to not want him to worry, but he'd be upset to find out Dad was feeling as bad as he was right now. "No."

Dr. Brooks exhales and stands. "I think this hour has given us a lot to think about. Sorry to have to run so suddenly but my days when I'm invited to work the hospital instead of my office can be a little hectic, and I only have five minutes to my next appointment. Would you be interested in talking again?"

Steven, surprised that a whole hour has passed when it's seemed like time was moving like molasses lately, has to think for only a moment. "Yeah." He clears his throat, trying to stave off the tears still threatening to make an appearance for just a little bit longer.

"I'll set it up, then," she replies, heading out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Brooks is from [CoreyWW's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoreyWW/pseuds/CoreyWW) [The Connie Maheswaran Fanclub (Or: How Connie Became the Most Popular Topic in School After She Pulled a Sword Out of Lion in Front of Literally Everyone)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7746817/chapters/31637655).
> 
> I'm glad I was able to use her and hopefully do her justice.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains content that I feel _just_ crosses the line into graphic violence/amputation. It's more strongly rated than the rest of the story as a result.
> 
> This is also the first chapter that contains spoilers for Change Your Mind.

Steven opens his eyes. Or maybe his eye? Half his visual field is black and he can't figure out why. He feels so very, _very_ heavy and yet so light, like that brined watermelon floating in the sea. But he's _not_ a brined watermelon; he's human. Maybe completely human? Where's his gem?

He lies on the ground, his head growing more and more swimmy, but a shout from Connie behind him gets him alert enough to turn. Garnet and Amethyst have their arms wrapped around his friend, preventing her from moving. Pearl has her spear drawn. Save something… odd on the tip of the spear, they're all… strangely monochrome, like an old movie or a dream of a chille tid.

...He's cold. Why is he cold? He looks down across his body and notices some distinct absences in the leg and arm departments, a not-insignificant amount of blood around him. Huh. Better get that fixed soon.

Is… Is _he_ supposed to fix that? Some sliver in the back of his mind says something about tourniquets, something he learned in a first aid class he went to with Dad very long ago, but the rest of his mind reels like someone who pulled a week's worth of all-nighters simultaneously.

Which is fine. The water's fine. And swimming in it feels so nice…

It's a strange sensation, one that pulls him ever so slightly away from his relaxing trip on the lazy river, but the left side of his vision feels… tingly just before it goes white.

When the white fades, he notices—but only vaguely—that he sees two different things. ...Weird. He looks around sluggishly, his eyes—eye?—settling on a much-pinker version of… _himself_ , descending from midair to the ground. Steven's whole body is on pins and needles, like he's feeling all extra-him's limbs as well as his own—even the ones that aren't there anymore. The odd out-of-body—in-body?— _part-of-body_ experience of feeling limbs that aren't attached to him—more limbs than both Stevens even have combined right now—somewhat arouses him out of his not-quite-seashore-slumber and back into some semblance of real life.  

He watches like a sick child sitting down for a movie marathon in bed as the other him shouts at the Diamond that towers above him and seems to block her powers effortlessly. Some shard of Steven's consciousness also notes the other him is slowly drawing closer to his body. He idly ponders that, as much as his clouded mind will allow anyway, his sound arm reaching haphazardly in his doppelganger's direction.

Connie is screaming something behind him, but he doesn't have much mind left to pay her. Deep in his consciousness, he knows he _needs_ this.

He scarcely feels Connie, having escaped from Garnet and Amethyst's clutches, trip behind him, splashing into the pool he's lounging in, and he doesn't see her, at least not with his human vision, which is quickly tunneling and letting him focus on little more than the gem now immediately in front of him.

A scared shout comes from his best friend as his duplicate grabs his sound arm and tries to pull him to his feet then, when that doesn't work, begins to lift him into a bridal carry. Part of him thinks this should hurt, but he doesn't actually feel _any_ thing anymore, save for what the other him wholly supporting his human body now can feel and touch.

The last of his vision blurs and he lets out a laugh that is easily mistaken for a shuddering breath as he's spun around in his other half's arms. His other half is laughing too, much more heartily, and he feels a distinct _change_ but his brain is too fuzzy from blood loss to actually understand what happened. One of the final shreds of pragmatism (of _anything_ , really) left in his mind notes that his leg and arm are still gone—even though the sensations they fire to his starved brain keep trying to fake him out—and he's stopped bleeding. He supposes that's the best outcome he can hope for, considering. He falls to the ground, unable to support his present husk of a self on his one sound leg.

The last thing he feels is loving him and loving being him.

He wakes up.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to let this cliffhang for longer, but I couldn't resist a quick follow-up to where we last left our heroes!

When Garnet, Amethyst, Pearl, and Connie walk in, Steven doesn't know what to ask first.

He eventually settles on a soft-spoken "I… uh… don't remember a lot of what happened on Homeworld."

The gems visibly squirm. Connie grimaces.

"I mean, I remember stuff earlier on, just not… toward the end, I guess." They're looking away now. "Um… so maybe we could talk about it?"

No one speaks up.

"C'mon, guys. Nothing?" He can't shake the feeling this is backfiring.

Garnet states, as if she knows the answer, "You remember forming Obsidian."

He nods. That's one of the last things he remembers. "What about after that?"

It almost feels like he's talking to a wall again, but eventually, Amethyst rubs her arm and says something.

"We probably remember as much as you, dude. White did this… _thing_ to us. Do you… remember that?"

For just a moment, it is Steven's turn to be the wall.

"Um… I had a dream. About... stuff I think happened later." He leaves out specifics, for now. "But I don't remember White doing that." He frowns. This is raising more questions than answers. "Unless… you guys were in black and white… right?"

Pearl rubs the back of her neck and cranes her face rightward, looking for a moment as if she's capable of turning her head all the way around.

"...Oh."

"Yeah." Amethyst looks as if she wishes she could remember it, just so she could forget it again.

He doesn't know if he should keep pushing, but something sticks out to him.

"Pearl had some… I think it was blood on her spear." The gems' eyes widen. This is just as much news to them. "It's not possible she might've…?" He trails off, but everyone in the room knows what he would have said.

Garnet and Amethyst look to Pearl. Pearl looks as if she thinks she should be shattered.

Connie's eyes look like they're about to jump out of her face.

"That's not what happened!" Connie shouts. It's the first thing she's said since she entered the room. The gems and Steven singularly focus on her, and she shrinks, wincing as she grabs her gauze-wrapped forearm. "Pearl didn't do anything to you. The blood was her grazing me. She—or White Diamond, I guess—fought me when I showed up." She continues, like a faucet forced on and the spigot broken so she can't stop even if she wants to.

"But I wasn't all… she can't take over humans, probably. So. I… you… it l-looked like—" She's shaking, as if she wants to run from what she's remembering but knows it will only follow her. Her teeth are clenched, like there are words trapped behind them that she can't let out.

"...Connie. It's okay." It isn't. He knows it isn't, can tell that what Connie's about to say—

"But it's not! I thought you exploded!"

For awhile, all that belies the room is the strong feeling of a "what" that no one wants to voice. The gems pale, and Steven's face wears a look of confused surprise. Connie's arms are crossed, though in a way that seems more like she's giving herself a hug.

"When she took your gem out. I thought you died. I didn't know you were okay until you were on the ground. And by then—"

"They were gone." His brow furrows. Connie gives a tiny nod, but he barely notices it, rolling over this new information in his head.

Exploded? But… is that normal? He's never lost a gem before; he's not really sure.

He finds himself thinking back to other things gems have come out of.

When Jasper pulled a gem straight out of, well, itself, it poofed. When the gem got pulled out of the inverted pyramid, _that_ exploded. And then, Lapis… the mirror.

Maybe the idea of _this_ happening from a simple gem removal isn't _that_ farfetched, if still a lot to take in.

"—Then, after…"

Connie vigorously shakes her head; she refuses to relive it. The gems all look to each other, yearning for more information but knowing acutely that there's no way they could even begin to consider asking either child anything about _this_.

"…That's okay. I think I know what happened." He sighs.

"Thanks for telling me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So originally when I wrote the chapter preceding this, I meant for the blood on Pearl's spear to be Steven's. Then I thought "but there's no good reason for her to go over to incapacitated human!Steven and just slash a couple limbs off, that's not White's schtick", then for awhile it was "lol she's got long nails, he must have just fell through like whoopsie", then I thought that was silly but the only other thing I could come up with was White using her powers on him and those somehow reacting weirdly even though there's no gem-ness in him which would theoretically keep it from reacting at all. But _that_ was too similar to [jankybones's concept for such a thing](http://jankybones.tumblr.com/post/181923390857/welp-this-is-an-au-now-and-some-people-were) ([here's a link to the art that sparked that, too, even though it's linked in the post](http://jankybones.tumblr.com/post/181887461217/i-know-it-wont-happen-but-i-have-dreams-dammit)), so then I was back to "long nails lol", but during that I realized that other things gems were removed from often broke. What if Steven could just... break? (I'd like to thank [E350tb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/E350tb) for talking it out with me!)
> 
> Also, I dunno when the next update will come because this is the first time I've posted a chapter for this fic without the next chapter mostly prepared. There are other future chapters in the document for my fic, but none of them are the immediate next chapter following this part. o.o


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter closely follows up the previous two and so is still slightly warned for that kind of topic. In specific, it's got a direct mention of blood, though none is seen within the timeline of the chapter itself, just mentioned.

Dr. Brooks jumps at the sight of Connie sitting with Steven, discussing something they quickly shut up about when she enters for an appointment. She had thought he'd be alone, like the previous times.

Connie's eyebrows raise at the sight of the psychologist, too. "Oh! Hi!" Her voice rings with recognition, but… something about it seems off.

"Hi, yourself." Dr. Brooks places a purse on the ground next to the empty chair left in the room, on the side of the bed opposite the one Connie is sitting on.

"…Do you two… know each other?" Steven cocks an eyebrow.

"Yeah, she's, uh, Jeff's mom, actually."

"So, all those times you mentioned a Steven, you meant _this_ Steven. Not that I knew him before all… this." Looking back, it makes sense, considering her son and Connie met via a particularly… combat-esque injury she had inflicted. That goes hand-in-hand with a… storied… past like Steven's.

"Usually, these sessions are alone. You know, HIPAA and all that." Her eyes pan from Connie to Steven.

He replies sheepishly, "I was actually hoping she could, like, sit in on this. If that's okay."

She sighs. "I suppose if you're okay with her hearing it, I'm okay with her being here." When Steven nods (and only then), she sits down.

"So, Steven," she glances to Connie for just a moment, "How are you today? Any weird feelings, concerns? Wanna just talk more about cats instead?"

He lets out a single quiet chortle. "No. Um…" he looks to Connie as if searching for permission in the features of her face, "I… I had a dream. I'm pretty sure it's… what happened. Sorta."

Dr. Brooks nods. "Sometimes dreams can signify things your waking brain won't deal with yet. Of course, sometimes they're just dreams. Do you have a reason to be sure it's what happened?" Her voice holds a neutral yet interested curiosity.

"I, er, Connie and I talked about it. It… lines up." Dr. Brooks takes careful notice of Steven's uncomfortable expression, but she also can't ignore how Connie seems to fade into her seat at mention of it. In that moment, she doesn't look at all like the girl who comes over to hang out or work on homework with her son.

"Mm… hm. What happened in the dream, if I might ask?" Her tone is cautious, as if her voice itself is stepping gently to avoid setting something off.

"Uh, well—"

"—There was so much blood." Connie is loud enough to cut Steven off but still only speaking scarcely higher than a whisper. She practically chokes on her next sentence "It… it seemed like—no, _it was_ everywhere. I was—" Her brow furrows, her eyes narrow, and she tenses, as if seeing, in vivid detail, the description that's stumbling out of her mouth. She stares at the floor with a gaze that doesn't even seem as if it's on this planet.

This is Steven's session… but that's a whammy. Her eyes move slowly from Connie to Steven.

He clenches and unclenches his hand and rubs the fingers against each other like he's avoiding having to look at either other person in the room or acknowledge what was just said.

"Steven?" The therapist's voice does its best not to sound like it's pushing, because it's not, though she doesn't know that either child in front of her will feel the same way on just about anything she says right now. She could say "I like cats," and one of them might see it as an attempt to direct them to spill the beans or something.

…She really needs to stop thinking about cats during these appointments.

"I…" Steven frowns (or, well, his frown _grows_ ), "I feel bad because I remember the blood in the dream, too, but I didn't even react to it. Or Connie, either, even when she was right beside me. It… felt so far away. I was just, like…" he sighs, "I dunno. Like… it was just _there_ , or something, like it was water and I could deal with it later and I was cold and I just wanted to sleep or something. …I should feel worse. I _should have felt_ worse."

"No." Dr. Brooks sounds firm. "Well, let me rephrase that to be more, hmm, _grey_. Not necessarily."

Steven's expression is uneasy. Connie still looks like a camouflaged turtle in her chair, silent as her gaze stays aimed at the floor. Dr. Brooks decides to continue, "There are a few ways to react to trauma, but it sounds like you might have been in shock, which really isn't uncommon in the kind of situation it seems you were both in. Psychologically _or_ physically in your case, Steven."

She doesn't need to ask how much blood he lost. She can imagine.

"When you lose that much… volume," she clears her throat, "then your brain doesn't have enough to do what it needs to do. And when it's something that intense, then sometimes your brain doesn't _want_ to do what it needs to do. Does that make sense?" Steven mulls it for just a second, nodding slowly. He doesn't say anything, just wears a thoughtful expression.

"But I wasn't like that." Connie doesn't look up.

"You're right. You weren't. Sometimes you're not in shock. Sometimes your brain feels like it's doing the opposite of shutting down and it catalogs every single thing you experience, no matter how small, and it's hard not to think about, especially if someone says or does something that reminds you of what you experienced. That's normal, too." Connie looks up into Dr. Brooks' eyes, then pulls her knees up into the chair and against her chest.

No one says anything else for a solid two minutes.

Dr. Brooks, the emotion of her expression indiscernible, looks from one child to the other. She exhales, but it's not really a sigh. "What else do you think you might want to say? About anything?"

Neither of them speaks up.

"…Okay, then."

They draw for the rest of the hour.

When Dr. Brooks leaves, before she heads to her next appointment, she pulls Dr. Maheswaran aside and lets her know she needs to discuss something with her.

Privately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not TOTALLY satisfied with this, but I don't think I'm gonna do a better version than this, and getting it done means getting over more hurdles to other (hopefully less stiflingly sad) stuff I've written for this fic!


	10. Chapter 10

Therapy's not that different from meditating with Garnet, except that it's entirely different from meditating with Garnet.

Connie's been seeing Dr. Brooks practically every day—it's some concentrated thing they're trying that's supposed to be helpful or something—and that probably has something to do with why she's been showing up to Steven's room practically like clockwork after school. Or, more accurately, after having played hooky, since the doctor's only openings in the past few weeks have been about thirty minutes _before_ school lets out.

Steven's had a few more sessions, less often. They're helping, he says.

When she walks in today, she notices he looks… hmm, Connie tries to remember if there's a nice summation for "a little less bad". Maybe she'll look it up later, because she supposes that's how she's feeling too.

Today, he smiles when she comes in. It's almost his normal smile. The whole scene is almost normal. Well, except for the surroundings.

It's weird. It hasn't even been that long—since what happened _or_ since she started talking to Dr. Brooks—and this is already starting to feel _normal_. Connie's not sure if that's reassuring or terrifying. She files the thought into a "something to discuss later" folder and sits down, placing her backpack beside her on the ground.

"You seem to be feeling better. What changed?"

"Well," Steven places his finger to his chin, thinking about which parts of his day are most recap-worthy, "I guess I went outside for a little bit, so it was a little less boring than hanging around in here. During my talk with Dr. Brooks today, me and her and Dad went to—did you know this place has a garden?"

"What!?" Connie's eyes widen as if she has just been told by a _very_ trusted source that aliens don't exist. "I've been around every entrance—Mom brought me here enough—where is it?" Her expression softens to the point that she just looks like she's pretty sure Steven's pulling her leg.

"It's on the roof, actually! Maybe they put it up there so people don't break into it? I dunno. But it's got lots of flowers and even a little vegetable garden up there! It was really cool. I think maybe I wanna go up there more often! Maybe next time I'll even bring," he pauses and glances at the bathroom door for some reason, "…Lapis." He clears his throat and regains the almost-normal smile he's had recounting his experience. "I think she'd be really interested in it. Maybe she'd even sneak Pumpkin in!"

"So that's what you did today? Just went to the roof garden I apparently didn't know existed?" She looks at Steven with a warm but expectant expression, thinking perhaps he's done something else, but on the other hand, she knows he could have just done something like that for a long while and been content, because he's _Steven_.

"No, earlier in the morning, I—"

Suddenly, Peridot bursts out of the bathroom and shouts quite a bit louder than she should.

"You're looking at the future owner of some new limb enhancers!"

Steven rubs the back of his head sheepishly, knowing another attempt to chide Peridot about her volume will be fruitless, but her exclamation has been effective at delivering the news to his Jam Bud nonetheless.

"Um… how long has she been in there?"

"…Long enough to freak out a nurse and two volunteers. I'm… actually not sure whether or not she understands human prosthetics are different than gem limb enhancers?"

"I DO SO!" Peridot yells. "For your information—"

Sometimes, it's easier to just leave Peridot be.

"This is really happening? Seems pretty—" Connie's not actually sure what it seems, and Peridot's din isn't helping her think.

"—early?" Steven supplies.

"I mean, I guess? I don't actually know the timetable for these things."

"Dr. Maheswaran said that the lady I'm supposed to see about it says that usually they wait long enough that, like, things are healed and not changing size or whatever and that that usually takes longer than this—at least for other people—but Dr. Brooks said sometimes they do it early because it makes people feel less bad about it. But I think for me they think it's just… time? I dunno. That's what me and Dad and Dr. Brooks were talking about in the garden, by the way. We actually talked so long our appointment ran over on accident."

"—and may I add that I think it's a testament to your species' intelligence that humans have been able to create—"

"So… do you think it'll make _you_ feel less bad?"

"Maybe? I feel like it'll be a little weird, you know, because they're not—" Steven is very sure about what they're not, but Peridot's din is the perfect excuse to pretend he doesn't know how to finish the sentence.

"—real?" Connie supplies.

"Yeah. I guess I'm afraid of them taking some getting used to."

"Hey, you're _Steven Quartz Universe_! I'm sure if anyone can get used to something new, it's you. Practically half your life is one new thing after another!"

"—granted, limb enhancers are by default designed for gems with a complete set of touch stumps, but—

"Sure, but… that's all stuff I was sorta prepared for, you know? _This_? Wasn't supposed to happen."

Connie's eyes fall. "…You're right. But it did."

_It happened, and you have to go through it anyway._

The room's sadder than it really should be with this news, even with Peridot's—"if what they provide isn't optimal, I can"—excited interjections at Steven's potential new "enhancements", so he decides to try to get back to the potential positives rather than linger and have to _deal with_ that.

…It's something they'll have to deal with eventually, he _knows_ it is, but just like riding your bike indoors, this isn't the time to do that; this is supposed to be a _happy_ occasion. (Huh, he wonders if he'll relearn how to ride a bike, but there are smaller hills to climb first.)

"…I guess on the bright side, I might be able to play my ukulele again? Oh, and with the leg one I'll be able to walk again, probably. Instead of hopping or," he points at the wheelchair near his bed he's been using on his occasional visits outside the room, "that." His face wears a wistful yet worried look that Connie picks up on, like there's a facet of this he's not voicing.

"That sounds great! Pretty soon you'll probably even be back on missions and everything, knowing you!"

"…But what if I'm not?"

Connie sighs. "Steven, you've gotten through worse things than this."

Steven is skeptical.

"Like… okay, maybe this _is_ really bad…" She looks down, her frown apparent but deep in thought anyhow. After a few moments, she sighs. "Yeah. I… can't think of anything scarier than this that's happened, at least not to you. But I think you'll be able to handle it, even if it takes some getting used to. Who knows? Maybe it'll end up your strength or something!"

"…I'm not sure about _that_." Still, a part of him smirks as if he's imagining having some sort of superpowered prosthetic, or at least being able to rip one off and wield it as a weapon. Doesn't exactly feel like _him_ , not right now anyway, but it's a funny thing to imagine.

"Maybe not, I guess." Connie smirks softly in turn, even though she has no idea what Steven is thinking. "But I don't think this'll be the worst thing that happens to you. You know?"

"Wow, I can't believe something _worse_ will happen to me!" His voice is half-sarcastic, and Connie fights back a giggle.

" _Steven_ , you know what I mean."

He pauses for a second, as if he doesn't know what words to use, before he speaks again. "…Yeah. I do. Maybe I won't have, like, helicopter fingers or… a… giant… foot—"

"Giant foot?"

"It makes sense. Don't question it."

"O…kay?"

"But I'll have a… regular arm and foot? A fake one? Hmm, I was going for a big finish but I can't focus," he glares ever-so-slightly-annoyed at Peridot, who is still rambling despite her audience's inattention, "enough to come up with something that sounds dramatic."

"Maybe it doesn't have to sound dramatic? Maybe it can just sound… normal?"

Steven ponders it, then smiles. "Yeah. Normal."

"—anyway, I've been reading up on the subject of human 'prosthetics' and I have learned quite an extensive amount of—"

"…Should we keep listening to her, or could we, like—?" Connie mutters, looking between the neon green gem and her best friend.

"On the one hand, I'd kinda feel bad to just ignore her, but on the other, I'm not sure she'd notice too fast even if we just left the room entirely." He looks between his best friend and the door. "…Maybe we could go to the roof? We can leave a note for her and everything. On the off chance she actually realizes." He gives a lighthearted yet sheepish giggle as he drags the table beside him to hang over the bed, grabbing a dark crayon and a piece of paper to write a message on.

Connie runs to the door, eager to see the garden this drab hospital has been hiding from her. "I'll go get someone, then!" They _could_ just use the call button, but she doubts anyone at the nurses' station will be able to hear them over Peridot.

Once they're situated and ready to go, they head out, letting the door close behind them, but not before a shout bursts from within.

"AND THAT'S JUST THE BEGINNING!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More and more of my chapters are only half finished, but that at least means I have a skeleton! I'm committed to finishing this story no matter how long it takes to get to the ending I want!


	11. Chapter 11

He's going home. He's going _home_.

He's _going_ to fight these stupid pants.

This isn't the first time he's worn clothes or anything since everything happened. He's changed plenty of times over the past weeks with help from nurses, and he's been specifically taught tricks to get his clothes on in anticipation of his getting back to life-as-he-once-knew-it.

He thought he'd be able to do it, so he refused when Dad offered help.

And really, it wasn't that hard, or at least the shirt wasn't; it was almost as easy and fast to put on as before. It's just… different now.

But the pants are another story. He's gotten them on one leg, then the other, but it's difficult to pull them up one-handed, and he can't see any way to wrench them all the way on without trying to balance haphazardly on his left leg for longer than he's comfortable doing. He's not even going to consider how he's supposed to button them after all that.

Dad knocks on the bathroom door again. Steven almost rejects it, but against his worse judgement, he tells Dad to come in.

Once the pants are on, he looks to the shoes he brought in— _shoes_ , _plural_ , because wearing two shoes is still habit even though he only has one foot now—and slides the left one on, taking the other to his bag, placing it inside, and zipping it shut.

The faded hospital room almost looks like he was never here.

He's going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short sort of transitional chapter before a longer chapter coming up!
> 
> Think of it as a palate cleanser? IDK. ~~It's past my bedtime~~


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Homeworld values aesthetic over access. Fight me.

Steven cracks his eyes open and stretches his arm and legs out.

…How long was he out?

Seeing as the book he was reading, _Welcome to the Wizard Wilds_ , is laying neatly face-down on his torso instead of on the floor, he surmises it can't have been long. He pushes himself to sit upright and places the book on the coffee table. Maybe it's for the best he didn't get much reading done. He and Connie are rereading the Spirit Morph Saga, and while he has all day to read, Connie is—he checks the clock—still in school at this very moment.

He doesn't have those prosthetics he was looking forward to—it turns out it takes a few appointments to get through all the prep, which means it'll be a few weeks yet—so he cautiously transfers from the couch to his new wheelchair, then he heads to the bathroom to freshen up.

On some level, he doesn't want to wait for his new arm and especially the leg, but he has to admit that the wheelchair is pretty cool, with a lever that rotates and pumps to control the chair's movement and direction since he's only got the one arm to push with. He guesses in the grand scheme of things, he doesn't mind. Compared to the alternative, it's _freeing_ , honestly, if he thinks about it.

Or at least it would be if he could leave the beach house. When he gets out of the bathroom, he goes to look out the front window.

The endless, _endless_ expanse of sand surrounding the house is too soft to push a wheelchair through—not to mention the impassibility of the full flight of stairs to his porch and house, as well—and they're not sure he'll be steady enough on his feet, either, to navigate sand for awhile even after getting his prosthetic. The plan was supposed to be for him to stay with Dad, but Dad's been so focused on everything else that he'd completely forgotten he'd made an appointment with his brush guy in Keystone until the text came in this morning. Dad didn't want to leave Steven alone so soon, so he left him with the gems.

…Who are nowhere to be seen. Huh. How did he not notice the house was so quiet before?

He cranes his neck up to try to look to the loft on the off chance Amethyst might be playing an extremely silent video game. Empty.

"Garnet? Amethyst? Pearl?"

After a minute or so passes, it's clear they're not in the Temple either.

Where could they be? He frowns in thought as he wheels himself back to the couch. On the way, a paper underneath his book on the table catches his eye, so he slides it out and unfolds it.

It's a note.

_Steven-- We have gone on a mission to handle some corrupted gems slinking around the Great North. On the chance you become bored, consider visiting the Galaxy Warp. Take Peridot with you. Pearl has left some money for a pizza delivery on the kitchen counter. There is a high probability neither we nor your father will return in time for dinner. We love you. --Garnet_

Scrawled underneath Garnet's neat, pragmatic text is a messy note from Amethyst— _yo, order me something with everything on it to eat later_ —but he can't draw his mind away from Garnet's note.

The Galaxy Warp? Why would she want him to go there?

He might have thought it was some new weird hidden clue to his destiny if he hadn't progressed past that line of thinking a few months back.

Steven leans against the back of the chair, pensive as he weighs the pros and cons because boredom has been the default for him for a couple weeks now.

He decides to go.

"Peridot? Peridot!" He calls out for the green gem but gets the same amount of response as he got from Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl just a few moments earlier, and as he conducts a visual search of the house, he comes to the realization she's left, too.

Bismuth has been splitting her time between the forge, the gems and Steven, and, for some reason, Ronaldo, and Lapis is… he actually doesn't know where Lapis is but that's not all that unusual. But Peridot was here before he fell asleep, and she hasn't left a note, so he has no idea where to look.

…He's too determined to wait; it's simple enough that he's sure he can do it without her. He makes a beeline for the back of the house as he mentally plans out what he'll do. It shouldn't be that hard, just warp to the Galaxy Warp, figure out what Garnet—

—The warp pad has steps.

He never thought about that before.

Three steps weren't an _obstacle_ before.

He shakes his head and gets his train of thought to recover from the sudden derailing. He'll just… ease out of his chair and onto the floor, then back up the steps and onto the warp pad on his butt using his sound leg and arm, and then drag the wheelchair—

No. It'll be too far away once he's up the steps.

Maybe he can push it up there before he starts?

…He doesn't even know if he'll be able to keep control of it in the warp stream. He's better at keeping ahold of objects he brings with him now than he was a few years ago, but he's never activated the warp himself with something _underneath_ him. And transferring out and back into the chair each time he warps isn't exactly something he wants to do. Plus, if something goes wrong, it could break, or fly out of the stream, and then…

Maybe he can just leave it here. But then he'll probably want—and _need_ —to stay on the warp pad, because he can't imagine he'll see anything at the Galaxy Warp that will be worth lowering himself off of the pad and crawling or hopping over to investigate.

Is it still worth it to even go?

He looks over his shoulder toward the completely empty house. The loft where everything interesting is at that it's too hard to get up to, the kitchen he doesn't want to cook in today, the book he doesn't want to finish reading without giving Connie a chance to catch up.

He looks back toward the warp pad, with all its problems but at least the promise of a change of setting.

Yes. It's still worth it.

* * *

He arrives at the Galaxy Warp seated on the domestic warp pad, his legs splayed outward as he leans back on his right hand.

Everything looks about the way he expects. The warp pads are still broken, at least as far as he can see, and downed pillars and general debris still rest around the perimeter where they fought with Peridot around a year ago, back before she was on their side. The Homeworld warp is still a mess of broken chunks pieced together not unlike the door at the end of Monsters, LLC.

He doesn't understand. Everything's the same. Was bringing Peridot supposed to help him figure something out?

He looks up to the night sky toward what he thinks is the direction of Homeworld and sighs in frustration.

He warps away.

But he doesn't go home. Yet.

He goes to the abandoned ship first. Centi doesn't come out—she can't unless someone opens the door anyway. He doesn't go off the warp pad—he's not interested in crawling down a hill through grass and brush in South America today.

Next is the geode. He doesn't need to leave the pad to see the duct tape is still holding up.

Five more warps and a change of position to lying on his belly, and he's at Mom's fountain. For a moment, he thinks it might be nice to head to the fountain, not for any healing properties it possesses (though he _does_ wonder if it can do anything for phantom pain) but just to relax in the warm water and _think_ about stuff…

…but then he remembers there's at least one full flight of stairs between the warp pad and the fountain that he is _not_ interested in crawling down or especially back _up_ , and he's forced to groan rather externally.

Stairs here, terrain there, plenty of things to just _fall off of_ (which his floating power doesn't make any less terrifying), even the warp pads themselves are raised off the ground!

It makes sense that all these gem places don't at all take into account gems who probably would have been shattered when they emerged, especially back during the war, but that doesn't mean it's any less frustrating to think about. On a level, it's _more_ frustrating to think about, specifically _because_ gems that might have looked or moved like he does now would have been… broken over it. If he wasn't lying prone, his hand would probably be over his gem right now.

He rests his chin on his forearm. Is this what Garnet wanted him to find? Something in him says "no" or she wouldn't have only told him to go to the Galaxy Warp, but for all he knows, she saw him taking this detour and seeing this stuff and feeling these feelings.

He makes a mental note to ask her before he goes to stay with Dad again—about what she meant him to do _and_ about what they can do to fix all this so he can actually, like, _go_ places.

Steven warps again.

* * *

When he materializes on the temple's hand, he barely manages to lift his head up to look to see out of curiosity if the dryer's done before a noise from above it makes him jump.

"Oh! When I saw the warp, I thought you were someone else."

His gaze rises to see Lapis sprawled across the washer and dryer.

"Lapis!" He wriggles off his stomach and into a seated position again. "I thought you'd be, like, out flying somewhere. Or something. I guess I don't know where I expected you to be." He smiles self-consciously.

She gives a lighthearted scoff in response. "Nah. I just don't got a barn to lay on anymore, and this was a better vantage point than the roof of your house. Plus your warm shaky thing was nice against my back, until it stopped, anyway. Almost fell asleep. 'Least until you showed up."

He decides against telling Lapis the "warm shaky thing" is called a dryer. "I can leave if you wanna nap. I'll just go inside and read a book or something." He's reluctant; as much as he likes books, he's a little tired of reading all the time.

"No. It's okay. I've been up here a long time. Shouldn't make excuses to spend even more time up here when I'm not even marathoning Camp Pining Hearts or something." She slides off the appliances and sits next to Steven on the warp pad. She gives his leg a long look before asking, "So what have you been doing today, anyway?" It sounds half genuine and half like an awkward attempt to fill silence with small talk.

He leans back on his arm and looks up at the cloudless sky. "Read some. Slept. Then I warped a few places and found out practically every gem place ever is basically impossible to visit if you can't walk, which…" He wiggles the bit of leg he has below his right knee as if to demonstrate. "It's weird because I didn't really see all those things before. The stuff that gets in the way, that is. But it's, like, everywhere, so I guess I just wasn't thinking about it."

Lapis is quiet. When she finally speaks, her tone is flat. "Reminds me of when I was in the mirror. 'Cept, like, I couldn't actually move, I guess. So I suppose you've got a… leg up on me." The end of her sentence sounds lost, as if she's not sure she's actually successfully punned because she does it so rarely.

She tenses as Steven's face contorts but relaxes when he bursts out laughing.

"Hoo… that was funny. The pun, I mean. …Probably won't be funny after 50 other people make it, though. And the mirror thing wasn't… funny. Um." He clears his throat. "Sorry. For reminding you of it."

"It's—" she pauses as if she's not quite sure of herself, "fine. In the past and everything." She looks down at her sandals and decides she's going to move the conversation away from that subject. "Hey, at least this warp pad has a nice view?" It sounds mostly genuine and only a little like small talk.

He follows her gaze and realizes he's never paid attention to the fact that he can see practically the whole city from up here. "Yeah. It does."

They let the sounds around them take over: gulls, ocean, a car or two, distant commotion from Funland. Sea air enters his nose. It's familiar. Like something he used to know. Like something he's glad to know again.

"You know, if you're looking to go somewhere, I could fly you." The offer from Lapis takes him by surprise.

"Really?!" He runs over the idea in his mind and tries to think of any downsides. "I mean, that's really—thanks! But… we might need to figure out a different way for you to carry me than you used to. Not sure I'll be able to hang on as well. Oh, and it's important to bring my wheelchair since I'll need it when you're not flying me. I dunno how different it'd be with all that going on, but—" Lapis' small grin grows, an outward sign of how much she misses the way Steven talks to her.

He bounces his left leg against the warp pad a few times idly, trying to figure out how to continue. "Offer still good?"

"Yeah. We'll figure it out." If she was Garnet or maybe Amethyst, she'd rumple his hair, but since she's Lapis, she just smiles, the same kind of smile she had back up on the moon when they were watching the sunrise, and stares back down toward the streets in the distance.

By now his expression is as warm as the sun hitting the crown of his head. He looks out at the town a bit longer, until he feels a feeling he wasn't expecting in the pit of his stomach. Is it really that time of day already? He nudges Lapis out of the people-watching she seems to be doing and into an inquisitive look.

"Hey. Wanna go get a pizza with me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter and the appearance by that certain blue gem! Wanted to get this out yesterday but my technology situation has been weird.


	13. Chapter 13

Steven sighs from his place on the cot set up in the back room of the car wash, loneliness and boredom his only friends, his silent siblings until the end of time as the crushing reality of apathy pushes him squarely into the back corner of life—

He turns off the melancholy music station blaring from the radio balanced on a stack of car wash parts catalogs older than he is.

Narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips in thought, he futilely runs down the list of "things Steven could be doing, except they're boring now" once more.

He's _not_ doing another round of _Crying Breakfast Friends_ —the whole series three times over starts to feel like _Lil' Butler Whoa!_ (especially sad considering the marked difference in quality between the two shows) and no one wants that. Not to mention there's that big marathon at the end of August just before _Crying Breakfast Friends: The Motion Picture_ comes out, and it'd be a pity to be CBF-ed to death by then!

Ukulele's out, too. Just the thought of yesterday sends him back into the overcast sky of emotion offered by the turned-off radio station.

* * *

Steven and Greg sit in the plaza underneath the tree at its center. He's noticed Mr. Smiley keeps glancing out the plaza-side entrance of the arcade as if he expects Steven to eventually want to enter and blow off some steam.

…That's probably because he clearly looks it, even from the relative distance of the building.

Steven groans and tosses his ukulele off his lap and to the ground, not for the first time this week or even today, groaning loudly enough that a few passers-by look his way before quickly hurrying along. "…I don't know why I'm even trying." He sighs and looks down at his discarded instrument.

He's been attempting fruitlessly for an hour to hammer out the logic of keying the frets with his right hand—something his left used to do—and using the small amount of residual left arm he has—which barely peeks out of his sleeve as it is—to strum.

It's… not working.

Greg's face contorts through a few not-quite-describable expressions; he's clearly not going through as much as Steven seems to be, but it's still so _new_ and _big_ that he feels unequipped to help his own son with something they're _both_ still trying to make sense of.

He guesses that's parenting: trying to raise a kid to be prepared for things you yourself could never be ready for.

"Come on, Shtu-ball, it's only—" He cuts himself off and mulls over the best thing to say. All his banked answers from years of being a dad seem like nothing more than platitudes now.

He joins Steven in eyeing the ukulele, then leans to pick it up and place it on his own lap, rubbing the strap, faded since he first gave it to Steven several years ago, between his hands. "You know, it wasn't so easy for you back when you started playing this when you were little. You learned fast, sure, but you still had to _learn_."

Steven puts on an expression that looks half sad, half angry, _all_ unconvinced, and takes serious interest in the armrest of the bench his dad sits on next to him. Greg sighs.

"I'm serious, bud. It's not the fun way, but you'll have to start again. You're trying to go straight to one-handed lefty Expert Mode on Ukulele Villain. But you gotta start on Beginner." Greg lifts the neck of the ukulele and places it in Steven's lap, simultaneously rumpling his son's hair with the other hand. "Look on the bright side. You still _remember_ how to do it. You just have to make it _work_ this time around."

* * *

Even with Dad's encouragement, everything he's tried since then seems just out of reach. At best.

…Maybe he'll just never play again.

He would talk to Connie, but she had promised Jeff months ago to spend the weekend somewhere out of town. A theme park or museum or something? He doesn't remember the details. She'd brought up canceling, but Steven hadn't wanted Jeff to feel bad.

He exhales and wonders if maybe he _should_ have asked her to cancel… then he remembers she's spent every free weekend (and most weekdays) she's had since Homeworld hanging out with him, and he stops wondering.

Even best friends need space sometimes. Even if it's really boring for one of the friends.

He's up and ambling somewhere between gracefully and clumsily to the small table in the other corner of the room, about to consider starting on a third reread of _The Unfamiliar Familiar_ when a knock at the front door of the car wash almost sends him to the ground in surprise.

After regaining his finicky balance, he looks to the wheelchair sitting beside the table for just a moment, knowing it's the safer option but also knowing he has no choice besides going out the back door or abandoning it at the narrow door jamb leading from the back room into the car wash proper, before deciding to head through the doorway and toward the front of the car wash on his own.

It's a good thing he's got floating in his arsenal.

He opens the door, trying not to sound _too_ much like his dad did back when he tried to start that gym on the beach a few years ago.

Judging from the look on the face of the person on the other side of the threshold, he assumes he's—

"Whoa, what have you been doing? Running a marathon?"

—unsuccessful.

"Seriously, man. You need to, like, sit down or something?" Lars' tone tries to sound grating, but he can't hide the concern it carries, either.

"Yeah. Maybe." He flinches as he moves a bit back into the car wash lobby and settles into a chair. "Even if all I was doing was playing the world's most boring game of hopscotch."

"Seriously?" The look on Lars' face, combined with his conspicuous lack of space gear at the moment, reminds Steven that he's a regular teenager just as much as he's an awesome spacefaring pirate. "You had to be doing something more than that. Right?"

"I think I'm just out of practice is all. Maybe it'll be easier once I get my prosthetics in a few weeks?" Steven shrugs. "Or maybe not? I dunno." He frowns. "Everything's different now."

Things are silent for _just_ long enough that a thin layer of awkward is beginning to settle between the two boys before Steven speaks up again. "Oh, I'm sorry! What were you here for again?"

"Heh… it's kinda silly. I was gonna ask your dad if he could wash the Sun Incinerator. Woulda brought it over and everything, but I kinda didn't wanna just assume he was up for becoming a car-and-spaceship wash, y'know?" He only lets a grin work its way onto his face when he sees a smile on Steven's. "But your dad wasn't here; there was a note on the door that said he went to the Big Donut. Figured you might be inside so I thought I'd knock. Wasn't wrong." He sniffs, trying to sound cool. "…Did they really send you home from the hospital to hop around until you get a fake leg or whatever?"

Steven makes a sound somewhere between an exhale and a laugh. "No, it's just that all the doors are really narrow, except the one in the back room—which is kind of my replacement bedroom right now while the house isn't really ready—that goes to the outside. I guess it's wider for bringing big stuff inside? I dunno. Dad's supposed to be calling a guy to fix the rest of them, but until then, he's supposed to be helping me around when it's someplace I can't get to in a wheelchair, but I just… jump wherever I gotta go as long as he's not looking. I'm not supposed to do that very much in case I fall and hurt myself or something, but…" he shrugs, "I just do. I think it was really only tiring because I was putting a lot of effort into trying to balance." He stretches his right leg out straight, earning it a glance from Lars for a fraction of a second, before continuing. "So… um… how have you been? I heard you were back when I was in the hospital, but this is the first time I'm seeing you since… back at the Jungle Moon? Wow. Really? Has it been that long?"

"…Geez. Try not to sound old, Steven. I've been…" his face looks as if he's about to consider saying something vulnerable to Steven before deciding against it, "eh. I dunno. We got back a couple hours after you did, from what I hear. Totally crashed Sadie's concert." Steven gives a wistful grin; he had been sad he'd missed the concert, but the band had brought him videos and pictures so he hadn't completely missed _out_. "Then I went out to dinner with my parents. I think they were just glad to have me back, even though I didn't eat much of anything."

"Oh. Um. That's not… uh… making things hard on you or anything, is it?" He winces, afraid of hitting a nerve. "Like, with people or baking or… uh… yeah?"

"Actually, it might sound a little weird, but no." He smiles, allowing Steven to relax a little again. "That first night back, we had Fish Stew Pizza. Saw Kiki there, and the cool kids and Sadie, too. We talked a little, but I think they were freaked out about you, 'cause they all sorta kept to themselves. I guess your dad split with some sort of vague or uncomfortable text or something." It's a matter of fact statement so far after the event, but it still makes Steven frown.

"But like I said, I think my parents were happy to see me, but even Jenny and Kiki's dad didn't kick me out for 'freeloading' by not feeling like ordering a drink, like he normally would. Not sure if that'll hold up." He rubs his chin with his finger. "And baking's probably still fine because I can, like, taste things or eat things if I wanna. I just don't have to most of the time if I if I'm trying to, like, live. It's kinda weirdly freeing, honestly." He shrugs. "The 'worst' consequence of this whole 'pink-and-stuck-on-another-planet' thing is that I got fired." Steven's eyes bug out as Lars continues.

"Something about how they 'regret to hear' I was kidnapped but company policy says they couldn't give me extra leave 'during this trying time'. Part of me wonders why I ever worked for a company _that_ heartless, but I'm mostly just surprised I wasn't fired earlier, the way I used to act." He shrugs, then clears his throat.

"At risk of sounding _way_ too insensitive," huh, he wouldn't have used to care about being too insensitive with Steven of all people, "how have things been with you?"

Steven fixes his eyes on a crack in one of the car wash lobby's tiles that's been there as long as he can remember. "…I've been better."

"What? _No._ I'm sure this is the best you've ever been, Steven." Lars has buttered on the sarcasm so thickly that it's practically clogging his arteries.

Steven lets out a chuckle, but most of its humor is missing. "I'm serious, Lars. Even if everything gets back to normal, it's gonna be different. I mean, I go to Homeworld to try to fix stuff and it basically ends up being the most awkward family reunion ever and everything just keeps going more and more wrong until apparently I basically _exploded_ or something in front of Connie, and then this happened. And now I'm working through all the stuff related to that and I'm supposed to be getting prosthetics but even that has me freaked out. What if they keep falling off or something? What if they hurt? What if they're not gonna be all that helpful and I can never be a Crystal Gem or a ukulele player or play the boxing option on Revolution Sports Resort again? What if I can't even summon my shield?"

Lars opts to ignore all the… Homeworld baggage for now and focus on the matter at hand. "Whoa, dude. It doesn't have to be that intense. Well, okay. Wait. I don't actually know what it's like to go through," he gestures to Steven, "all that. But, like, I'm sure the gems will still want you on the team, no matter how much stuff changes. From what I've seen, they seem to really care about you. And I'm sure you can learn all that other stuff again. Maybe not the boxing, but I'm biased since I think that boxing game sucks and you shouldn't put in the effort."

"Maybe you wouldn't think the learning all over again would be so easy if _you'd_ spent three hours on a wild Googolplecks chase that just led you back to where you started."

"Point taken. But still."

Steven doesn't respond further for a few moments, and when he does, he nudges the subject in a different direction.

"You wanna know what really gets me? I feel like I'm not supposed to be this messed up about it."

"What? Why not? Isn't it, like, a big… _thing_? Makes sense to have to… angst over it or whatever to me."

"But… like… there are other people who've been like this their whole lives. Or, like, most of their lives or something. Me and Dr. Brooks talked about that kinda stuff one day. They don't seem all broken up about this kinda stuff for the most part."

"…But you're not them."

Steven's brow furrows as if part of him genuinely doesn't get it and part of him just wants not to. Dr. Brooks tried to follow this line of thinking too, but they hadn't had time to get very far before the appointment finished.

Lars picks back up. "Like, I mean… you know—you haven't been dealing with this for _your_ whole life. Of course you'd have to adjust and all that. You'd have to do that no matter if it was, like, this or a… new baby sister… or a car… or… gah, I dunno. Something you really like. I mean, hey, come on; look at me. Turning pink was way better than the alternative, from what I hear, and I'm _still_ not sure I'm all the way used to it, y'know? Especially now that I'm on Earth again. Everyone seems really cool with it, but I'm still, like, the only pink person around. It's weird."

Steven's lips purse, a twinge of guilt washing over him even though it's clear a pink Lars was the preferable option.

"And I should probably be honest about something." Steven looks up at Lars' sentence to meet his eyes.

"I'm afraid to bake again."

"What?!" Surprise is etched across every one of Steven's features. "But-but— But you're so good at it!"

"Okay? And what if I'm not anymore? What if, like, I suck now or something? What if something's different about it for me because I don't wanna eat anymore? What if—what if I can't taste stuff anymore? You gotta taste to be really sure you're baking right, Steven!"

"That's… I don't think that's gonna make _that_ much of a difference, Lars! I… That last one doesn't even sound like a real thing; it sounds more like some television writer's edgy theory!"

Lars finds the crack Steven had focused on earlier and eyes it himself for a few moments before coming back. "…You know what?"

"What?"

"I think we're both huge messes."

"Well, I'm glad one thing hasn't changed, then."

"Rude."

Steven snorts, a more genuine laugh than his previous. "No, I meant how we can be real with each other about how everything sucks."

"…We _are_ really good at that, aren't we?" Lars cocks a brow.

"Feels like we're getting _too_ good at it, honestly." Steven frowns and joins Lars in staring at the crack again.

Lars squints his eyes for several seconds before looking up to meet Steven's face.

"I think I have an idea…"

"Hmm?" Steven's gaze, pulled away from the floor as well, is inquisitive but skeptical, as if he's never seen Lars have an idea.

"How about… you try not to freak out about… everything… and I'll try not to freak out about baking. Maybe I'll try making baklava and invite you over for it. Or at least make you ube or something."

Starry-eyed at the thought of Lars' delicious ube roll, Steven blurts out, "Deal!"

Lars huffs out a laugh. "Try not to be too excited, dude. It's just cake." He holds out his left hand for Steven to shake.

"Really good cake!" Steven laughs a contagious laugh that knocks another chuckle out of the older boy's mouth as he eyes Lars' offer to seal the deal. "…Also, you're gonna have to switch hands unless you were planning on shaking on it with my stump." He clears his throat, lighthearted but with a dash of self-consciousness.

"Oh. Right. Sorry." The two clasp hands for just a moment before Steven slaps his hand against the logo on Lars' shirt, earning a friendly groan and the same gesture in turn, which is almost not rudely interrupted by Greg unceremoniously slamming the door open.

"Steven! I brought—" his voice dies down upon realizing his son is not in the back room but scarcely five feet from him. "I went to the Big Donut and got us some donuts!" He places the boxes on the sales counter of the wash and continues. "If you want one, too, Lars, go ahead and help yourself. I got more than enough."

"Oh! Um. That's okay. I'm not very hungry. Thanks, though." He pulls his phone out, eyes widening as he turns the screen on. "I really should go. The Off Colors aren't ready to be alone on Earth for more than 10 minutes without causing chaos. And by Off Colors I really mean Fluorite. And to a lesser extent Padparadscha."

As Lars makes a break for the door, Steven calls out, "Hey! You're gonna try, right?"

Lars turns with a smirk on his face and speaks before bolting in the direction of the nearest obnoxiously loud rubbernecker he can hear, "Only if you do, too."

Greg brings a donut over to Steven, wearing a face more confused than what Steven assumes Dr. Maheswaran would look like if she found out about Stevonnie. "Is… is this something I should be concerned about?"

"No." Steven takes a bite into a Pink Lars. "Oh, except maybe for the part where Lars forgot to tell you he wanted to know if you could wash his spaceship."

"Oh." Greg chews his Classic Dewey.

"Wait, what?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Sorry for the long wait for this. I kind of didn't like how angsty the first version of the chapter that would have been here was (though it was easier for me to settle into its tone than I felt while writing this), and then I just didn't work or post for a long time. I'd like to get into updating more frequently, but I can't be sure I _will_ since work has started being more frequent again. (Gah, why can't I have that old college work ethic in regards to my fanfiction?)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at Steven and Connie visiting with Dr. Brooks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for discussion (by Connie) of the gore that got Steven into his present state. It's a therapy session so it's not like actually happening in real time right then or anything, but it might scare some people or gross them out, so warning.
> 
> This chapter has a loose chronological structure, but these sessions aren't happening at the same time.

Steven's never been in Dr. Brooks' actual office before. It's a hodgepodge-y mess he wasn't really expecting, if he's honest with himself, especially with the composed air she's put on so far in their meetings.

She lets him sit wherever he wants and even offers him a drink when he comes into the room.

He doesn't take one, though he does transfer to a comfy armchair with a little stuffing coming out of the armrest.

And then… silence.

After a few minutes, Dr. Brooks notes, "You're quiet today. Same old, same old? Something new? What's up?"

* * *

"I dunno, I just kind of… I…" Her hands clasp in her lap and she looks down at them.

Dr. Brooks pays close attention to Connie but is careful not to interrupt.

"I'd never seen something like that happen before. I didn't know something like that _could_ happen. Not to Steven, at least."

Connie looks to Dr. Brooks in time to see the woman nod.

* * *

Steven sighs. "Back in the hospital there was lots of new stuff to talk about all the time because I was learning all this new stuff about how everything's changed. That's kinda… slowed down, I guess? I mean, there's still new stuff coming, like the prosthetics in a few weeks or something, and I guess some stuff about my life's different now, too… but I'm not all _that_ focused on that, you know? Not today, anyway. Is that weird?"

"No." She doesn't elaborate. "What _are_ you focused on, then? Must be something important to have you brooding."

He leans back. "…Homeworld."

* * *

"I… I think I might have learned to compartmentalize right then," Connie starts.

"—I think you might be talking about suppression, but continue," Dr. Brooks cuts in.

"I just felt useless. I had to make myself useful, somehow. That's why I forced myself away from Garnet and Amethyst, because I wanted to try to help him, to like, I dunno, carry him back over to his gem. I don't actually know if that plan would've worked, 'cause White Diamond is, like, huge, so maybe she could have stepped on me or something if her gem magic wouldn't work, but I wish I would have gotten to try _some_ thing." She breathes out a gust of air so intense she almost imagines herself to have wind powers, and Dr. Brooks gives her the space to contemplate. "I worked so hard to be able to try to protect him, and when the time came, all I could do was watch him die."

* * *

"I still feel really… weird about it all." He forms his hand into a fist and realizes he's trying to do the same thing to his left hand, if the sudden uptick in phantom sensation, bringing with it an uncomfortable feeling of squeezing a stress ball while his hand is asleep, is any indication.

He still misses being able to clasp his hands in his lap.

"Same kind of weird or different weird?"

"…Yes?"

"You wanna clarify, Steven? Or are you leaving it at that?" Dr. Brooks smirks and takes a sip from the tea on her desk.

"I mean, I still feel bad about how much I didn't have the energy to care even though we've been talking about how I shouldn't feel bad, but I feel like… I dunno, like…" he sighs and places his head in his hand.

"Are you having trouble coming up with the words, or the feelings?"

"Yes."

* * *

"Do you feel like you have to be useful?"

"No? I… well… maybe a little. I know if I don't, Steven and the gems and my parents will all still love me and all, but I feel like I just… I did things that were supposed to help me look good for colleges and help me get jobs for so long and then I decided to heap on doing sword stuff to help the gems and I only do one of those things now, but it's… I'm not sure I know what I'd be doing if I weren't doing something to improve myself or help other people."

"There's nothing wrong with helping other people."

"Then why did everything on Homeworld feel so wrong, whether I was helping or not?"

"Because—if I may be frank—from what you and Steven have told me, everything on Homeworld _was_ wrong."

* * *

"Gems don't really have, like, 'blood' relatives—okay, well, duh, because they don't have blood—but like—"

"Biological?"

"Yeah. Anyway. They acted like my mom was like their sister or daughter or something, so I don't know if that makes them my aunts or my grandmas or whatever."

"Okay."

"But it's not normal. They shouldn't have— I— I told them it wasn't normal to lock people up and make them cry and hurt people because they don't do what you want and Blue and Yellow started to get it but then White… she just… pulled my gem out. She let us leave, but I don't even know if I did anything to change her mind. Everything about what happened right after is fuzzy enough still that I just know what people told me, and I don't think they're sure what she thinks now or not." She sighs. "I'm scared of having to go back and having it always be like that. I don't—I never wanna get that hurt—so hurt I might die—ever again." He looks down at his foot.

Dr. Brooks frowns.

* * *

"Did I tell you I fell in his blood?"

Dr. Brooks' eyes widen. "No, I don't believe you did. You've mentioned that there was a lot of blood more than once, but you never shared that particular event with me. Is that something you wanted to talk about more? Or just something you felt I should know?"

"I feel like I don't really _want to_ talk about it so much as I feel like it's something I should talk about anyway. …If that makes sense."

Dr. Brooks gives a firm nod as if to say "it makes total sense" and makes a mental note that she might need some extra-heavy-duty decompression from today's load of emotional labor once she gets home.

"Whenever you're ready."

* * *

"Steven." He's been quiet for a few minutes now, having taken to examining his fingernails while Dr. Brooks has been writing something in her notes that he can't quite see from his vantage point now that he's looking up. Dr. Brooks continues. "You know I try not to push, but I think we need to explore what you just said. Today."

He frowns but eyes her face receptively. "…Alright. I guess. What exactly were you planning on exploring about it?"

"I'll be honest, the logistics of mandated reporting here have my brain doing gymnastics, and we should probably hammer that out before you leave today, but I think it could be easier to look at this from a few rather human schemata."

"…Schemata?" It's a word Steven doesn't know the definition of.

"Mental categories it could fit into. Ways that we could talk about it that connect to things we already know."

"Like what?"

Dr. Brooks exhales heavily and tries not to make it sound like a sigh. She's not sure it's successful. "It might not be a perfect allegory here, but I think it might be wise to think of the Diamonds' actions in terms of abuse."

* * *

"…Have you ever… smelled blood?"

"Ever at all? Yes. On the scale you're talking about? Afraid not." Dr. Brooks grimaces but tries to hide it with a feigned yawn behind her hand.

"I… I guess that makes— I mean, it's not as if I'd _never_ smelled that kind of thing at all before, but it… it _smelled_. And I wasn't expecting it to be that _bad_. Like, really bad, but also kind of familiar? Like… one of those big jars of pennies my dad keeps in the cabinet of the sidebar in the dining room. But, like, sorta, I dunno, it was—not _hot_ , exactly. Maybe like water from the tap when you wash your hands—like, it _smelled_ that way. All I could focus on at the time was that it was just a puddle of… _Steven_ , though. I've only had time to think about what it felt like because I keep having nightmares about it."

"About the blood in general or—"

"—Falling in it."

* * *

"Abuse? I don't know. Isn't that a little harsh? Wouldn't calling it that, like, hurt their feelings?" Steven avoids Dr. Brooks' eyes, choosing to focus on pulling at the stuffing poking out of the left armrest.

Dr. Brooks smiles gently. "Steven, you're one of the most empathetic people I've had the pleasure to meet, but sometimes it's better to be blunt. Using direct language isn't inherently hurtful. Even if some can interpret it that way."

"I don't know…"

"Hmm. Well, I'm not trying to push you into feeling any specific way, but let's look at it this way. You called them dictators, right? Do you think that would hurt their feelings? It's not exactly a neutral term."

"I guess."

"Okay, so moving on: If you're not too uncomfortable doing it, could you explain some things they've done? To you or your mom or really to anyone?"

"U-um—"

* * *

"How frequently would you say you have these nightmares?"

"—Uh." Connie twiddles her thumbs. "It's better since I've been coming to you, but it's still a few times a week." She gulps. "It used to be every night."

"Do you think what we've been doing is helping? Or do you want to try something new?"

"I don't know."

* * *

Dr. Brooks studies her written list of what Steven has rattled off about the Diamonds. "So, to summarize, they've: attacked each other, attacked you, tried to lock you and Connie up indefinitely, made—" she stops and notes that she scratched that word out to replace it with one that better drives the actual point home, "— _forced_ you to cry with some weird emotion-feeling power, at least for awhile refused to call you by your name, kidnapped your dad, kidnapped some of your friends," she notices Steven's mouth open to add something and states skeptically, "though you say that in their 'defense' they didn't actually know who those people were, called Connie a 'pet', used physical force against you and your family for…"

"—Fusing."

"Right. And then," she clears her throat, trying not to think about just how vile the next two are, "placed Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl, plus the other two Diamonds, under White Diamond's complete control, then pulled out your gem, which almost killed you. And you say most of that is just what happened on Homeworld."

"Yes." He's studying a pattern in the carpet so he can avoid meeting her eyes.

"And if, say, it was you doing all that, what would you call it?"

Distress floods into Steven's features as he squirms in his chair at the question. He _really misses_ being able to fidget with both his hands—since clasping his hands or crossing his arms or even doing that finger sausage thing are out, he has to settle for tapping his fingers against his thigh or rubbing his nails against his thumb or just deciding whatever and letting his hand aimlessly flail in search of its nonexistent mate. He's sure Dr. Brooks notices when he gets like this, but she never seems to let on.

"—I would never do that."

"I know, Steven. It's just a hypothetical. We're just trying to look at what you've discussed with me in ways that can help us understand how you might categorize it, what schema it fits into."

His eyes narrow, and he does his best to place all his focus on a really old-looking map hanging on the wall.

He doesn't respond further.

"…Alright. Let's move on."

* * *

"How about we log your nightmares? You can write down every time you remember having them, and as much as you can about what happens in them, and then sometime a few weeks from now, we can take a look at them. It'll help us to know exactly how many you're having and what we can do to help deal with what you're seeing in them, maybe work on figuring out what can make them happen less. Does that sound doable?"

"…Do I have to write down _everything_?" Her eyes are uncertain, and she grasps the armrest of the chair she sits in.

"It'd be helpful. But I don't want you getting too specific if, say, you're waking up in the middle of the night, writing everything, then being too freaked out to go back to sleep or something. Do as much as you can, but don't sweat the small stuff. Okay?" She gives a smile just like any normal sort of one she'd pair with a farewell when Connie leaves from an afternoon at Jeff's.

Connie gathers her courage. "Okay. Yeah!"

* * *

She lets Steven stew for several minutes, knowing she shouldn't push further after several attempts at discussion elicit only grunts. She's decided to use the cooldown time to straighten some papers on her desk when he finally speaks several minutes later. She looks up to see he's managed to drape himself across the chair's armrests and is examining the ceiling.

"Why is it so hard to do what's right without making other people feel bad?"

"If it were possible to truly answer that question, I think we'd be closer to world peace." Dr. Brooks pinches the end of her nose.

Steven turns his head toward her, skeptical, an unspoken "no, I'm serious" boring at her face.

She frowns and wonders if she should tell Steven the story of how she divorced her husband, but she _knows_ she can't, for so many different reasons. She sighs. "I think in the grand scheme of things, the people who are upset when you're trying to stand up for what you think is right are either people who think their way is actually the right one or people who know it's not."

He turns back toward the ceiling, simultaneously reaching to rub the end of his right leg to try to calm the pins and needles coming from where his foot would be. "I'd say I can't imagine anyone who thinks it's a good idea to do what's wrong, but Kevin exists, so I guess it's not _completely_ impossible."

"Who's Kevin? Sounds like someone you don't like." Dr. Brooks finishes off her tea and cocks an eyebrow.

"Just this guy who's kind of a jerk to me and Connie sometimes. I think maybe he's really concerned with how other people see him. But, like, he goes about it in all the wrong ways. Like if Lars was less… Lars-y… and more… I dunno, Marty?" He squints at a speck on one of the ceiling tiles. "…Huh, maybe it'd help him to talk to you. Kevin, I mean. I think Marty might be a lost cause."

* * *

"Almost reached time. Anything else on your mind? Or do you think we left it at a good place for next time?"

"Well, we did, but… I _am_ nervous about something."

"Oh?"

"Well. It's not exactly the kind of thing you probably focus on helping with at your job here and all but… I wanted to invite Steven over."

"That sounds nice. Would it be the first time you've ever done that?"

"No. Well, yes? Not since—"

"Before?"

"Yeah. It was so fun having him over back then but now I'm worried because I was gonna invite him but I hadn't even thought about how my house has stairs and now I'm just wondering if it's a mistake to invite him and maybe I should just go over to his place to hang out instead. I wouldn't want him to, like, have to crawl up my stoop or be carried places 'cause I feel like he'd rather get around on his own instead but we can't, like, build a ramp because maybe my mom would be upset or think it's too expensive and—um. Yeah. That's basically… yeah. I wanna, but I don't want him to feel bad. I guess."

"Hmm, maybe give it some more thought before you throw the idea out entirely. You might find a way to achieve what you want to, or if you can't, maybe you can do something on your side of town. I bet Steven would enjoy being out of Beach City for awhile in a way that doesn't involve being at the hospital."

A wistful smile arrives to Connie's face. "Maybe you're right. Or I guess at least if you're wrong then it might not hurt to try."

* * *

"What's 'mandated reporting'? You mentioned it earlier but you didn't explain what it was."

"Oh. Uh." She places her notebook down on top of a stack of papers on her desk that's still unruly despite the time she's had to straighten it and looks up. "That's right, you don't go to public school, do you?"

He shakes his head.

"Well. In the state of Delmarva, some people—like babysitters or teachers or coaches or doctors and psychologists—who might work with children or vulnerable people have to pay close attention and tell the police if they think the person they're seeing might be in danger of being hurt or hurting other people."

"—Like if I'm being attacked or locked up or something."

"Precisely. It's there to help protect people if they might not have the means to protect themselves. Or if someone lets on that they're gonna do something bad, like an armed bank robbery or something. I would have to let someone know. By law."

"…Are you gonna do that? Because of what I said?"

She clicks her tongue and sighs. "That's just the thing. I know the process inside and out, even for inter-state cases. But intergalactic is a tad out of my skill level."

The air feels firm under the weight of the issue, silence arriving to cover the room like a blanket. Steven frowns.

"One time I overheard Garnet saying that since there's never been anyone like me, they don't know what I need. So maybe since it's out of your skill level, it's out of your jurisdiction? Since you don't know?" He smiles nervously.

Dr. Brooks' deadpan expression is enough response, but she adds a, "Steven."

An exhale. He should have known that wouldn't work. "I should have known that wouldn't work." He sniffs. "For what it's worth, I think they might be not do any more of that kinda stuff or they probably would have followed me back to earth or something. Plus Blue and Yellow were being better already before everything went down, so maybe they're managing to help White now that it's done. Maybe… you could give it 'til next time I'm here? At least to figure it out or run it by people you work with or something."

She places a hand to her chin. "Not sure it's the _best_ idea, but it might be the only one we've got. I'll give it some thought until then. If you're sure." Without waiting for an answer, she rises from her desk and walks toward Steven.

"I think that's time, actually. Need any help getting up?"

"Maybe? It's a really comfy chair." He purses his lips in embarrassment as he reaches his hand out, though it's clear a part of him is trying not to laugh underneath his seemingly terse expression.

* * *

It always seems to Priyanka that Connie comes out of therapy with a weight lifted from her shoulders.

She eyes Greg on the other side of the room and wonders if he sees the same thing happen to his son. Steven sits beside his father, brow furrowed as he examines a crack extending a bit down the wall from the reception counter. She's sure his mind is on something besides that crack, and if it's anything like the nightmares she hears Connie yelp about in her sleep, she's sure it's not good.

Her eyes are still on the two when the door to the offices opens and Connie strides out. The second he notices, Steven's whole demeanor changes, the two exchanging a relieved look that seems to share more than either of their parents can read off of it. After a few moments, but before Connie and her mother leave, Dr. Brooks calls Steven back for his session.

It's going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need to give credit where credit is due. Some of this chapter's structure and the style of Dr. Brooks' office are inspired by [Connie Swap Episode 33: Notes from the Undergrounded, Chapter 4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18254039/chapters/43401923#workskin) (and Dr. Brooks is, as always, originally from CoreyWW's [The Connie Maheswaran Fanclub](https://archiveofourown.org/series/590323)).


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